


In Order to Heal

by synonym4life



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 15:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11084250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synonym4life/pseuds/synonym4life
Summary: In order to heal one must first let themselves hurt





	In Order to Heal

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt by @hazyxthoughts I got on tumblr. Hope you don't mind me posting this here too!

The room is enveloped in sombre darkness. Only a few feeble rays of sunlight manage to fight their way through the curtains - just enough to make the darkness stand out more. The air is hot, stifling. A young man with wild black hair is lying motionless on the bed. He can hardly breathe, the air is weighing so hard on him. Or is it the air? Or is it this strange heaviness that's been building inside his chest? This peculiar pressure in his lungs making him feel as though he'll burst any minute but instead only succeeds in making him immobile, completely incapacitated. 

It’s _that day_  tomorrow. May 2nd. The day on which he'll pretend, for the second year in a row, that he is strong, composed, healed. For others. For Ron, for Hermione, for Mrs Weasley. Tomorrow he will be strong, today he can be weak. 

His head is fuzzy. He cannot distinguish one thought from another, cannot tell whether tears are really running down his cheeks or he only wishes they were. Tears, screams, anything, anything to alleviate the pressure inside.

All he does is succumb to the weight.

Everything hurts.

He doesn't know how much time has passed, he just knows the rays of sunlight are gone and the room is even darker than before. Strangely enough, the darker it gets the more clear one thought becomes. 

If a name resonating through one’s head even counts as a thought?

Draco Draco _Draco_

Funny how his mind at its worst refers to Malfoy as Draco.

Why is there so much fog in his brain? He can’t even figure out why his mind keeps calling for Malfoy, but it keeps insisting. Curious. Of course, at least Malfoy wouldn’t care, at least Malfoy wouldn’t try to talk him out of this mood. He wouldn’t tell him to be grateful it’s over, he wouldn’t tell him they should be glad to be alive, he wouldn’t tell him he should be happy now. He wouldn’t say anything, he’d just fuck him into the mattress like countless times before and it wouldn’t mean anything. But it would help with the pressure.

Yes.

Malfoy always helps with the pressure.

He moves to feel for his wand that should be lying somewhere on the bed beside him; it’s for the first time he’s moved in hours. His grip is weak when he awkwardly waves it in a familiar pattern croaking out a faint _Expecto Patronum_.

A faint white wisp flutters from the tip before it dissipates. Somewhere deep inside he’s shocked - this hasn’t happened in years. He tries again, but everything is just too heavy, the weight on his chest is drowning him, pulling him under.

Happy thought? Happiness?

He cannot remember ever feeling it.

He cannot concentrate. His mind is just supplying Draco, Draco, _Draco_ over and over again, so he just focuses on that. Draco, Draco, Draco _Draco_ _Draco;_ a silent _Expecto Patronum_. The familiar form of a stag erupts from the wand tip, feeble, small and flickering like a ghost, but it’s there. Harry would have been relieved if he could feel at all.

 "Go find him. Draco. Tell him…" his voice gives out, "Tell him I need him."

He lays there in the darkness, chest aching, mind lost in a fog of blurry thoughts when a loud crack shakes the room. His reflexes take over as he sits up his hands gripping the wand tightly. The man who apparated into the room swishes his own wand in a practised motion and small orbs of light fly from the tip to settle into the sconces along the walls. Warm light chases the darkness into the corners bringing the tall blond man in front of him into view. _Draco._ Harry’s outstretched hand falls limp to his side.

"Potter." The voice is faint as pale eyebrows draw together. "Fuck. Potter. What the fuck happened to you?" Draco takes a firm step towards the foot of the bed before stopping uncertainly. Harry can only assume he doesn’t look too well if _Malfoy_ is worried about him.

Harry opens his mouth to speak. The voice that comes from his throat could very well be someone else’s - it sounds so scratchy and unused. "You apparated here. The wards are up."

Draco shifts looking uncomfortable for a second, before indifference takes over. "Yes, well, I tore through them."

Somewhere in his confused mind, Harry realizes that’s a bit strange. Malfoy always comes through the Floo. "What about the Floo?"

Malfoy tenses and shifts his gaze to the nightstand on Harry’s right.

"Your Patronus said…" Harry can see Draco’s Adam’s apple move as he swallows, "it said that you. That you needed me." The resolve in grey eyes firms as they settle on him again.

As shadows ghost across Malfoy’s face, Harry can see the black under his eyes, the strange parchment tinge to his skin, the haunted eyes. He’s not looking too well himself.

"You look like crap."

A hoarse laugh escapes Malfoy’s throat. "Yes, well, if you pulled your head out of your arse, you would see you’re not the only one dreading tomorrow."

"I’ll be fine tomorrow."

"Yeah? At what cost Potter?" Now Malfoy looks angry and Harry can’t really tell why. "You’ll be fine tomorrow so that you can rot on the inside for the rest of the year? Good fucking plan."

That hits a nerve that Harry knows it wouldn’t have if it weren’t at least half true. But fuck Malfoy. What does he want him to do? Cry in front of the fucking public? Make a speech about this stupid pressure in his chest? Now, that’s a good fucking plan.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do, Malfoy? Enlighten me, please." His voice is dripping with venom now, the same venom that’s poisoning him from the inside. "Nobody wants a sobbing hero."

"Those who love you don’t want a fucking hero!" Malfoy shouts. His nostrils are flaring and his eyes are glinting with overflowing emotions.

The pressure in Harry’s chest starts to bubble in annoyance. He thought Malfoy wouldn't bloody preach to him, that’s why he called him here. "What do you even care? What are you even doing here?"

"You fucking called me here!" Malfoy is properly yelling now. "What the fuck Potter! Your Patronus was so weak. Fuck! I thought you were fucking dying!"

Harry doesn’t know when exactly he got to his feet, but he’s standing by the side of the bed now, surpassing Malfoy’s volume with every word he screams, "I called you to FUCK ME! You know like you do all the _fucking_ time?" he’s now taking steps towards Malfoy who doesn’t show any indication of backing off.

"I called you to fuck me because THAT’S THE ONLY THING THAT FUCKING HELPS TO ALLEVIATE THIS- THIS FUCKING PRESSURE INSIDE." He is so close to the other man now that he’s shouting directly at his face. He can’t see very well though. Everything is blurry. "ALL THIS- THIS FUCKING TENSION INSIDE AND I DON’T EVEN FEEL ANYTHI-" His voice breaks off as he realizes he can’t see because there are tears stinging his eyes.

"Fuck me," he says demanding, not asking.

His hand flows to Malfoy’s neatly tucked shirt and tugs on it. He steps closer still, pressing himself against the firm body. He releases the shirt from the trousers’ hold and slips his hands against the warm soft skin. Malfoy despite breathing heavily is uncharacteristically rigid.

His mouth moves against Malfoy’s ear. "Fuck me." He slides his leg between the open thighs. "Please." He can feel the body he’s clutching shiver.

"No." Malfoy takes hold of his arms pushing him away. "No. Not when you’re like this." He takes another step back.

The pressure returns full force, crushing him, boiling his blood and clouding his mind.

"FUCK YOU!" he doesn’t know when he turned away he just knows he’s now swinging his fist against the door pummelling it viciously. "FUCK ALL THIS! FUCK YOU!" He’s shouting, fists pounding, his vision clouded by wet tears that are finally pouring down his face. He feels his fist hitting the wood repeatedly and it hurts, but he is so glad that he finally _feels_ that he finally _hurts_.

A warm hesitant hand touches his back softly. In an instant, all strength leaves his body and Harry sags against the door helpless, afraid, torn.

Strong unsure arms wrap around him from behind. They hold him there grounding him, absorbing the tremors of the ugly heaving sobs escaping his throat.

"It’s okay," is whispered against his neck. "Shh, It’s okay." Repeated over and over again as they slide to the floor together. It’s messy and ugly and pathetic, but Harry can’t help but think it’s better than before. Better than not feeling anything.

Malfoy just holds him, holds him through the shivers, holds him through the gasping breaths, his face pressed into Harry’s hair. He doesn’t move. Harry can feel the awkwardness in their entangled limbs, awkwardness due to their strangely contorted position as well as this unusual display of brokenness. Malfoy can’t be used to this. Harry can feel his arms twitch from time to time as if he can’t decide whether to hug harder or let go. He holds on anyway.

Harry’s heavy breathing has subsided to a random shaking breath here and there, when the mouth pressed against him opens and Draco says quietly "You know, a wise person once said to me that in order to heal you have to let yourself feel. In order to heal, you must let yourself hurt."

Harry lets out a shallow breath. "That sounds like something Hermione would say."

Draco shifts. "Weasley, actually."

"Ron?"

He can feel Draco nod slowly behind him. "Yeah. Weasley. He- he found me in Knockturn alley that first year after the war. I- I was numbing myself with alcohol and he was on duty that day. It wasn’t a good time."

Harry closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. "It’s not a good time for me now," he swallows. "It- It hasn’t been for a long time."

He can feel Draco move to speak, but he seems to change his mind and instead just tightens his hold on him. Harry hurts. He hurts worse than he did before, but his chest is lighter and the pressure is gone.

\-----------

 

The next day Hermione asks him if he’s okay. He answers he hasn’t been too well lately. The smile she gives him is sad but brilliant.

The next day he cries by every grave they visit. Ron’s hand clasps his shoulder firmly and doesn’t let go.

The next day in the dark of the night Draco asks him "Does it still hurt?".

"Yeah," he whispers. "Yeah, but at least now- now I can feel it."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are a joy to read ;)


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